


English Rose

by alatariel_gildaen



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: But It's Not Guaranteed, F/M, Fluff, Romance, english AU, i'd be pretty willing to bet there will be smut at some point, obviously the rating will go up if that happens!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7461018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alatariel_gildaen/pseuds/alatariel_gildaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Up until now, Daryl has never even left Georgia, let alone the United States. When his brother dies, leaving him with the request to expand his horizons, Daryl takes the instruction to heart and finds himself on the other side of the world. He didn't know what he'd find, but he didn't expect it to be the love of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Matter Where I Roam

**Author's Note:**

> I admit it, I have a huge habit of writing English AUs across every fandom I've ever been in. But Daryl... well... I just can't make him English. That would not work in any way shape or form that I can possibly conceive. But hopefully this works enough that I can sate my need for my English AU and keep him in character.
> 
> The title and first chapter name come from The Jam's song 'English Rose.' I'd like to try and keep all subsequent chapter titles as lyrics from that as well, but I'm making no promises. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

The rain poured in a seemingly endless torrent; the grey skies emptied themselves over the grey, concreted terminal, as all around him nameless, faceless people jumped into taxis or hopped onto buses for their onward journey.

Daryl hoisted his rucksack further onto his shoulder and reached into his pocket for the scrap of paper that contained his hastily written instructions telling him where to go. _Underground – Piccadilly Line_ was the first instruction, and there were several lines of instructions after that.

He looked around at all the available signs, and nervously started following the one that said ' _Underground_ ' with a certain amount of trepidation, unsure if this was really what he should be doing.

Part of him even considered turning round and getting straight back on the damn plane home. After all, he had no real reason to be here, on the other side of the planet, in London in the pouring rain. Only that his damn brother's dying wish was for him to expand his horizons, and get out of Georgia for the first time in his life. To see the world, and to _live_ , not just survive, for the first time ever.

In his grief, Daryl had taken the words to heart. He'd already quit his job as a mechanic at the local garage, and had sold everything he owned to pay for the ticket and visa to get here. And for what? What essentially amounted to an extended goddamned _holiday_. Nothing more. And now the reality of being thousands of miles from home, with no plan at all for his future was settling heavily on his shoulders.

"Fuck you, Merle," he muttered under his breath.

He must have lost his goddamned mind to have upped sticks for this. His visa lasted a year. He had an open ended ticket so could return home whenever he wanted, but having left his life behind, he had nothing to return home _to_. And yet, being naturally pessimistic, he had only sorted out a week's worth of accommodation, just in case he did decide to haul his sorry ass back to Georgia.

He checked his instructions once again. _Piccadilly Line_ … Straight down the bottom of a nearby staircase. He could hear an announcement saying that a train was due in six minutes, and rather than run for it, he hesitated in his tracks. There were plenty of nearby hotels. He could just get a hotel for the night instead of having to travel to some unknown destination and spend time with complete strangers. It was a tempting thought…

But then, it was also an expensive waste of money. He had already paid for the roof over his head for the next week, after all…

His mind made up, he quickly bought a ticket from a nearby kiosk and ran down the stairs, jumping onto the train just as the doors were starting to pull closed. No one so much as even looked in his direction as he found a seat on the cramped train and sat down, and checked the map above the travelers opposite him with his own directions once more. He still had a long way to go to his final destination, and he started to think about how he had gotten himself into this strange and discomforting situation.

One of his regular customers —a kid called Glenn with a beat up old Ford that spent more time in the shop than out of it—had spent a year traveling round Europe, and on discovering Daryl's vague, half-formed plans to travel abroad to honor his brother's memory, had told him about couch surfing. It was the cheapest way to see as many places as possible, and Glenn had enthusiastically launched into a dozen stories about the people he had met, and the places he had seen.

Daryl had been pretty put off by the idea of the forced social interaction, but Glenn had explained that it was just the way he was personally, and if you wanted to keep yourself to yourself you could. And there was definitely no cheaper way to travel. With money being such a finite resource, he had been persuaded to at least look into it, and with Glenn's patient help, Daryl had registered on the website. With a little more help and persuasion he had started actually looking for people offering up their spare rooms, and at long last, after a few exchanged emails, he had found a bed for the week in Greenwich, London. For the next seven nights, he'd be staying in the home of a Mrs Carol Peletier.

***

It took over an hour and two changes of trains for Daryl to reach his stop, and it was still pouring with rain by the time he stepped off his train. After just a few seconds he was drenched to the bone as he checked his directions once more.

The narrow, winding streets were such a far cry from anything he was used to, and he wondered how anyone could possibly live happily this way. After all, he may have grown up in not much more than a tiny wooden shack, but shit… at least they'd had plenty of outdoor space, and no neighbors living directly on top of them.

At last he found his way on to Mrs Peletier's street. Every house was adjoining the next, with not even an inch of space between them. Not a single one of them had a front garden, and Daryl wondered how he was going to cope with such a tiny amount of outdoor space and no greenery or trees to retreat into. He quickly reminded himself that he could give up and go home whenever he chose, and with a deep breath, started to walk down the car-lined street.

The numbered doors counted down until he finally reached number 38, and he looked up at the building he would be calling home for the next week. The red brick house was three storys tall, but it was impossible to tell where one property began and one ended.

His hand hovered over the doorbell for a second while he steeled himself for the awkwardness of meeting the family he would be staying with for the first time. He almost took himself by surprise when his finger pressed the button.

A few seconds later, the door was opened by a woman of about his own age. She had the bluest eyes he'd seen and they sparkled with friendly, smiling warmth. Her silver hair was cut short, which accentuated her heart-shaped face, and the flowing summer dress she wore clung to her slender figure. She was the prettiest damn thing he'd seen in as long as he could remember, and it took him a moment to remember to speak.

"Mrs Peletier?" he asked.

"Please, call me Carol," she said with a smile, holding her hand out towards him. He took hold of it and was surprised by the firmness of her handshake. "You must be Daryl. Come on in. It's awful out."

He stepped over the threshold and into the dry warmth of her home, taking a quick look around. Despite the outward appearance, inside it seemed light and spacious. The hallway he was in opened out into a large kitchen at the end, with a doorway to the right leading to what was presumably the living area. To the left a set of wooden stairs led upstairs. The walls were painted a soft cream, in stark contrast to the richly varnished wooden floorboards, and a series of black and white photographs were mounted along them framed in simple black frames.

He hadn't thought it was possible to feel even more out of place, but being in such a fancy-looking home set him immediately on edge. He was immensely aware of the fact that he was already dripping water all over the highly polished wooden floor, and didn't know what was worse; making a fool of himself in front of someone so well off, or making a fool of himself in front of someone so damn pretty.

"Sorry," he mumbled, nodding towards the water pooling at his feet.

"Don't worry," she said. "Kick your boots off, and I'll show you to your room so you can get yourself dry."

He nodded, and pulled them off as quickly as possible, painfully aware of the fact that he had been travelling for well over fourteen hours, and couldn't be especially pleasant to be around.

"This way," she said, walking straight up the stairs. "You're in the attic room at the top of the house. I'm sorry it's a trek, but hopefully you'll be comfortable."

"Thanks," he mumbled once again.

On his way up the stairs he glanced at the photographs on the walls. There were several of a young girl, presumably Mrs Peletier's daughter.

"How long was your flight?" she asked as they climbed the next set of stairs, and he brought his attention back to the woman in front of him.

"Nine and a half hours," he answered.

"Have you slept?"

"Naw, thought I'd try and hold out til tonight," he answered,

"Oh, you poor thing!" she said. "You must be absolutely knackered!"

"I'm…what?"

She turned back to look at him, and a pink flush and crept over her cheeks, a coy smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Tired… sorry. I'll try and keep the slang to a minimum."

"Naw, s'ok," he replied. "I just aint thinkin' too straight right now is all."

She smiled at him and pushed open the door at the top of the stairs. "Here you are," she said. "If you wanted to clean up, the bathroom is back down the stairs, second door on the right. I've only got a couple of rules while you're here. Firstly, if you smoke, not in the house. You'll need to go outside. And secondly, if you go out, please don't bring anyone back with you."

Daryl nodded and was unable to look her in the eye. "That aint a problem," he said.

"Good. So, I'll just leave you to it then. And I understand if you just want to go to bed, but if you feel like you'd like a little lunch, I'll be downstairs."

She offered him another warm smile and closed the door behind her, leaving Daryl alone. He let out a deep breath as he looked around at his home for the week. The attic room was large, but with low gabled ceilings. A double bed was at one end, with a chest of drawers and a clothes rail pushed up against one wall. All along the opposite gabled ceiling was a series of windows. He was sure that when night fell, and if the rain finally cleared up, he'd get a fantastic view of the night sky.

He dropped his bag to the floor and perched on the edge of the bed, falling back against it, utterly exhausted but determined not to sleep, and his mind was drawn to his host. They had sent each other a few cursory emails, just to exchange names, arrange what time he would be arriving, and so that he could—once again with Glenn's help—pay for the week's accommodation with PayPal.

He hadn't expected his host to be so pretty and so hospitable too. No, that was very much an unexpected bonus. But as soon as the thought began to form, he shook it away. _Mrs_ Peletier, he reminded himself. Whoever Mr Peletier was, he was a damn lucky man.


	2. Caught The Wild Wind Home

It took every ounce of determination in his body to force himself to sit up and not simply allow sleep to take him.

He quickly crossed the room and checked that the door was closed and, as quietly as possible, slid the latch across to lock it. He hung his jacket up on the back of the door, and then peeled his soaking wet shirt and jeans away from his skin. He glanced over towards the rucksack he'd be living out of for however long with a sinking feeling. He was too tired, physically and mentally, to carefully sort through his belongings right now, and with a sense of resignation, knowing it would mean more work later, he opened the top and upended it, shaking everything that he had so neatly packed over the floor.

A sudden knock at the door sent him to a minor panic; he knew that it was locked, but the idea of a stranger seeing him so exposed, of them seeing the scars that covered his body… "Just a minute," he said, grabbing the first shirt and pants in reach and hurriedly throwing them on, before he unlocked the door and opened it a fraction. Mrs Peletier— _Carol_ , he reminded himself —was on the other side, a worried look on her face.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," she said. "But you must think I'm dreadfully rude. I just realised I hadn't offered you a tea or a coffee. Can I get you a drink?"

"Coffee'd be good," he said.

"Would you like it up here, or downstairs?"

Truth was, right now he would much prefer to be alone, but he could practically hear Merle shouting at him that he was acting like a pussy when there was such a damn fine piece of ass right in front of his eyes. "Naw, I'll go down."

She raised an eyebrow, and Daryl suddenly realised the implication of what he had said. "I mean, I'll come—" he stammered, stopping himself midway through the sentence as his face flooded with color.

"Well," she said, stifling a chuckle. "Let's just start with the coffee and take it from there. Is instant ok?"

Not trusting himself to speak again, he nodded, unable to meet her eyes.

"I'll go put the kettle on. Kitchen's downstairs at the end of the hall whenever you're ready."

She backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her. Daryl let out a deep breath, inwardly cringing at his own awkwardness. Where moments before Merle had been shouting at him, now he could picture his brother laughing his head off.

"Jackass," he muttered under his breath at his brother's memory.

After steeling himself, he made his way downstairs. The modern kitchen opened out into a conservatory in which Carol was curled up in an armchair, reading a book that she held propped up against her knees. A look of deep concentration was on her face as her eyes flew across the page, and now and then she carefully reached for a mug on the table beside her, blowing on the hot liquid first before taking the tiniest of sips.

It was a picture of tranquil contentment, and Daryl felt strangely intrusive at seeing her so peaceful. He hovered self-consciously in the doorway until Carol finally looked up from her reading.

"Hey," she said. "Your coffee's on the side. I haven't put milk or sugar in, so help yourself."

He nodded and found the large, scarlet mug on the pristine white work surface, resting beside a sugar bowl and a bottle of milk. After fixing his drink he sat at the kitchen table, and Carol joined him moments later.

"I'm sorry the weather's so bad," she said, gazing out of the window at the pouring rain. "Has it interfered with your plans for today at all?"

"Naw, didn't know what I was goin' to do anyway."

"Probably for the best," she said, taking another careful sip. "Just relax today and then tomorrow you've got a fresh start."

"I guess."

She looked at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable, and then rested the mug down on the table. "What are you looking forward to most while you're here?"

He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "I don't know," he said at last.

"And where are you going next, after you leave?"

"I don't know," he said once again.

"How long are you over here for?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. I got this ticket where I can go back when I want. Any time between now and next year."

"And you've made no plans at all?"

He raised his eyes to meet hers, then looked away embarrassed. "Nothin'," he admitted. "If I'm bein' honest, I don't know what the hell I'm doin' here at all."

"So…why are you here?"

He shrugged, and bit at the corner of his thumbnail. He had no reason to open up to her at all, but somehow felt compelled to be entirely honest. "My brother died last year. Cancer. Before he went, he told me he wanted me ta see the world. I don't know about the world, but… See, I aint never even been outta Georgia before, but I wanted to do right by him. I promised him I'd get far away, see other places. But I aint gonna strand myself somewhere I can't speak the language so it was either here or Australia. And the ticket here was a lot cheaper, so…" He shrugged once more.

"I'm really sorry for your loss," she said quietly. "So you're doing this for him?"

"I guess so."

"That's very sweet of you," she said. "Honoring him that way. But I hope you remember to do this for you as much as for him."

He gave a brief jerk of his head in place of a nod. The fact was, he'd not thought of himself at all while making his plans to get away. Everything was for Merle. Not just to honor him, but to escape the grief of losing him, too.

But Carol seemed satisfied with his answer. "I know how you feel, though," she said. "I lost my little girl, Sophia, a couple of years ago. Cancer as well."

"I'm sorry too," he said, thinking of the photographs that lined the hall. A bright eyed young girl smiling alongside her mother; a girl that was no longer here. The thought was like a punch to the stomach, an echo of the physical pain Carol must have felt at the loss of her daughter.

"Thank you." She smiled a bittersweet smile and gazed out the window, her blue eyes shining. There was a dignified strength behind her sadness, one that made her beauty shine through even more. "That's one of the reasons I started taking people in," she continued. "The house seemed empty. It's just too big to be alone."

_The house seemed empty…too big to be alone_ ….Daryl registered the implication immediately. "So you're not married?"

"Not any more," she said, still lost in memory. "The divorce was finalised a couple of months ago. Not to go into too much detail but… it was… messy. And a very long time coming."

"You live on your own?"

"Yup," she nodded.

Daryl felt a strange and sudden mix of emotions; a vague sense of selfish euphoria that whoever Mr Peletier was, he was no longer around, coupled with an overwhelming need to ensure her safety. "You sayin' you just let strangers into your house, and you aint got no one else here?" he asked her, unable to keep the edge out of the tone of his voice.

"I've never had any problems with anyone. And I like to think that—these days at least—I'm a good judge of character."

"Yeah, but by the time you meet someone, they're already here, and it's too late. You shouldn't just do that. You shouldn't just be lettin' folks in when you don't them."

"Are you including yourself in that?"

He opened his mouth to speak then closed it again. "I guess," he said after a while. "Ya don't know me. I coulda been anyone."

"You're right," she said. "I don't know you. But I knew enough to trust you. I'd never let anyone stay here unless I'd found out enough to trust them."

His eyes narrowed at her words as his feeling of discomfort increased. She'd not spent any time at all communicating with him. If her trust of all strangers was based on a similar level of communication, she was putting herself in a very real danger.

A mischievous twinkling appeared in her eyes and she said, "I feel like maybe I owe you an explanation. Just a sec," then vanished from the kitchen, returning a minute later carrying a laptop. She opened it up and tapped at a few keys, then turned the screen around to face him.

He frowned at the screen for a second. It was the _Couch Surfer_ website, and his profile page was open, but it was not, by a very long shot, the profile he had set up.

When he had registered, he had filled out the absolute basics; his name, his email address, and his date of birth. There had been the options of including a photograph and a biography, but he had skipped those parts, deeming them both unnecessary and invasive.

But the page he was looking at… There was a photograph of him in the top left corner. Nothing that he had ever posed for, though. The candid photograph showed him standing in front of a beat up old Ford with the hood up, wiping the engine oil from his hands on an old red rag.

He recognized the Ford instantly. After all, it spent more time in the shop than out of it, and its owner was the person who had got him on this website in the first place.

"Glenn, you son of a bitch," he muttered as he scrolled down even further. Nothing had been written in the section marked _About Me_ but there was a video embedded. Daryl clicked on this and a familiar smiling face waved back.

"Hey," said Glenn. "So…I know this is _really_ unusual, but… Hi. My name's Glenn, and I'm friends with Daryl. Or at least…right now I am. If he ever sees this, I'm not so sure. But then again if I don't do this for him, he's not going to get anywhere, and this trip is really important to him so… And he knows literally nothing about technology or the internet which is why I'm helping him out here. Anyway, I think this sums up Daryl pretty well."

The screen cut away to a video of him bending over the same beat up old Ford. "Here's ya problem, man," he was saying, and Daryl could remember the exact conversation, almost word for word. "Whoever did the solder on ya radiator didn't know jack. It's corroded to shit."

"But you can fix it, right?"

"For now… but s'just gonna corrode again and get worse and worse. Really ya need a whole new radiator."

"How much?" asked Glenn.

"I could prob'ly get ya one for a hundred and fifty."

"A hundred and fifty? Daryl, I don't have that, and I _need_ this car!"

Daryl's fists clenched in his lap as he recalled the next part of the conversation. In the video, his eyes narrowed as he noticed the phone in his friend's hand. "What are ya doin'?" he asked suspiciously.

"Ummm… just… catching Pokemon…" said Glenn. Daryl looked up from the laptop to see Carol across the kitchen table, stifling a laugh behind her hand.

On the screen, Daryl looked over his shoulder. "Axel finds out, and I aint never gonna work here again."

"But…aren't you leaving for your trip soon anyway?"

"Yeah, and I want a job when I get back." He looked around once more. "Look, I do this for ya—"

"And I will make it up to you, and I will never, ever ask for another favor for as long as I live."

"Ya better not. Leave it with me."

The video returned to Glenn talking into the camera. "You see? Daryl's the kind of guy who will risk getting fired to help a friend out, but who can't tell the difference between a guy filming him and playing Pokemon. Which is why I'm doing his _about me_ section. So Daryl, if you do see this, this is me making it up to you, ok? Because, dude, no one's ever going to get back to you if you've got _nothing_ on here, and I know how much you need this break. Trust me, ok? Anyway, about Daryl…umm… he's loyal. Honest. Private. He'll keep himself to himself. If you need a hand with anything he'll be the first to offer it. He's caring, even though you might not know it when you first meet him. He'd be my number one choice to be on my zombie apocalypse team. I guess he can be kind of a moody asshole. But he's an asshole with a heart of gold. You should give him a chance. Anyway, Daryl, enjoy the holiday, and you can thank me when you get back."

The video stopped, and Daryl could feel the heat across his face. "I'll kill him," he said.

"No you won't," replied Carol, and she seemed to be fighting against a smirk. "You might be an arsehole, but you're an arsehole with a heart of gold, remember?"

He glanced up and caught her eye for a second. "Stop it," he mumbled, and she chuckled to herself.

"I'm sorry," she said. "But like I said, I think I have a good judge of character, and your friend seems like a nice and honest guy, and you looked sweet, so…"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and reached for the mug of coffee. That was twice that she had used the word 'sweet' to describe him; something no one else had ever done in his life…

Still, while Glenn's video—and he'd _definitely_ be having some very serious words with that kid when he got home—may have explained how she felt she could trust him, he still felt uncomfortable with the idea of Carol allowing just anyone into her home.

As if she could read his thoughts, she said, "Look, it's really nice of you to worry. But most people who do this are just kids taking a gap year before uni. They're more nervous about staying somewhere away from home than I am about giving them a place to crash for the night. If it makes you feel better, I'll admit, I raised an eyebrow when I first saw your date of birth, and I wondered why you'd be doing this. And your friend was right, I'd never have returned your email without his addition. But then I thought it'd be nice to have a little company closer to my own age for once."

"You must think I'm some kinda dumbass," he said, becoming suddenly very interested in the bottom of his coffee mug. "Quittin' my job to do somethin' kids do when they're half my age. Shit. Sayin' it out loud, I _know_ I'm some kinda dumbass."

"Not at all," she said gently. "I think it's pretty inspiring, to be honest."

He caught her eye once more and she smiled with such genuine warmth that he was entirely caught off guard, and his pulse raced suddenly.

Outside the wind whipped through the narrow street, whistling past the houses, while the rain came down harder than ever. In the distance, Daryl swore he could hear the faint rumbling of thunder. He glanced out of the window at the dark grey skies, and pictured the blazing sunshine he had left behind. "This normal for July?" he asked, grateful for the readily available change of subject.

"Well, it is summer," said Carol. "Welcome to England."

The hammering of the rain against the window panes was almost hypnotic, and the more he listened, the more his body began to succumb to the jet lagged exhaustion he was so desperately fighting, despite the caffeine racing through his veins.

"You ok?" Carol asked as he stifled a heavy yawn.

"Yeah, I'm good," he said, yawning once more.

"And you're sure you want to try and stay awake 'til tonight?"

He nodded, in spite of his body's desire to sleep for a day or two.

"Ok," she said. "Not much you can do while it's raining so heavily. So let's do something to keep you occupied. I'm going to be your new Glenn."

It took a while for the words to sink in, and once they had he still didn't understand their meaning. "What?"

"Well, you can't just drift from place to place for a year. So, by the time you go to bed tonight, we're going to have got at least the next month worked out. Ok?"

"You don't gotta do that," he said.

"I know," she said. "But I want to. I don't know," she said, smiling to herself. "I guess I just don't like the idea of you being lost over here."

Daryl sat back as Carol took charge. She made suggestion after suggestion of places up and down the country to visit, and searched for beds or couches in the area for him to stay at, as well as finding the cheapest transport possible. On top of that, she ensured that he was well fed and didn't go thirsty. Two more mugs of coffee, a grilled cheese, and several of the best chocolate chip cookies he'd ever had later, and the next month seemed to be shaping up nicely. With Carol's help he'd sent out several enquiries, so it was now just a case of waiting for them to get back to him.

He was nearing the point of absolute exhaustion by the time they decided to call it a day. "Thanks," he said. "No one's helped me out like that before."

"You're welcome. So, what about the next week, while you're here? I can show you around if you like?"

"Aint you got work?"

"Not right now," she said. "I'm a teacher at the local Primary School. We broke up for summer last week, so apart from a few administrative days here and there, I've got the next six weeks off."

The slightest of smiles tugged at the corners of his mouth. He was so used to avoiding the majority of people unless absolutely necessary and to receiving the same treatment in kind, and yet Carol had shown him more kindness today than he had received in years. And for the first time since getting on a plane, nearly twenty four hours earlier, he didn't feel as if he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

"I think I'd like that," he answered.


End file.
